1.)When my mother - Sally - cooks something it is always enough for twenty people. We call them "Sally Batches".
2.)As long as I've been alive, my mother hasn't had many friends. But, the ones that have come and gone over the years have always been, well, peculier.
3.)This story stems from an e-mail I got from her. She was very upset about having hit a kitten on the way home. She stopped at the only house around, and asked if it was their's. The old man told her that people just dump litters of kittens out in the country, and not to be too upset, and that he would bury the kitten, like he has for the past twenty years.
Out of those three things, and a very warped sense of humor, I have written,
The story of Sally and Mrs. Mally.
The old man appeared out of nowhere carrying a weather-beaten shovel. His green faded overalls hung low and saggy in the back, and one of the metal clasps in front was missing. His wife, a hunch-backed old woman, walked as if her left leg was shorter than her right. Her hair was pure white and pulled into a loose bun held together with bobby pins. She hobbled towards a simmering black kettel in the side yard and stirred it with the most enormous wooden spoon Sally had ever seen.
„I‘m Mr. Mally," he said in a consoling voice. „Don't worry none about that kitten. Happens all the time. People just think those poor little things can take care of themselves, and they leave whole litters of ‘em out here in the country. And, well, they wind up getting hit by a car.„ Sally listened to old Mr. Mally, still in shock from hitting the kitten. She didn‘t know what had happened. It was as if the kitten had actually flown through the air and landed in front of her car. „Can I interest you in one of the missuses fine crocheted couch throws?“ Mr. Mally asked, startling Sally back to reality. „She spins the yarn herself. Ain't nothin' softer than kitty yarn." He spit a stream of brown chewing tobacco out of the right side of his mouth and pointed towards a green roadside stand.
"Got free samples of jerkitty today. Smoked-n-dried right down yonder in what used to be the old outhouse. Just the right size for a smoke house." He hooked both thumbs into the sides of his overalls, gave a Skoll stained grin and continued with his sales pitch.
"And everything here is Or-ganic." That's just how he pronounced it, with a pause between the Or and the Ganic.
His wife gave a friendly wave as she stirred the kettle. "Won't you stay fer stew? Got plenty. With your hit, that makes five today. I'll have to freeze it if you don't stay."
Sally's eyes darted from the makeshift roadside stand, to the old woman, and finally stopped on the still warm road kill.
"Name's Nellie Mally," the woman said hobbling towards her. "I always make too much. My young-ens call it a Mally Batch when I cook."
Sally couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was like the good Lord himself had brought these two woman together. Destined to be best friends.
"Well?" Nellie asked her. "You gonna stay? Can't you speak woman?"
Sally gave a sly grin. "Oh I beg your pardon." She said sarcastically. "Guess the cats got my tongue."
This made both women laugh so hard they wet themselves right there, together, by the side of the road.
And so began the friendship between Sally and Mrs. Mally. Sally sold her trailer and moved into the old farmhouse. Old Mr. Mally spent his time raising kittens and putting them by the side of the road when he heard cars approaching. Sometimes giving them a friendly nudge, or toss into the oncoming car. Most folks bought a little Jerkitty, or handmade scarf. Sally and Nellie sat on the porch sipping lemonade and spinning "karn" as they so called it. (and giggled like schoolgirls every time they said it. Sometimes they would say it for no reason at all but to have a little laugh. Karn. Tee-Hee, Karn.) If they weren‘t spinning and giggling they were busy cooking up Sally-Mally-Batches of soup or stew.
And they all lived happily ever after.
The End
